Trade
by bell.esque
Summary: SasuSaku for copecetic. She'd trade in anything for him, even if she got nothing in return.


**Title:**Trade

**Author:**Kikoru Sijan

**Dedication:** To dooziii, or EJ, who is just amazingly sweet and one of the nicest people in the world. EJ, you're so extraordinary, and you always make me smile. It's some blessing that you have. Merry _late_ Christmas, happy eighteenth birthday, and I wish you a great year for 2008. :) You've been working so hard this month, yet for some reason, you still manage to pull through and write something for everyone. You are simply amazing. I love you. ♥ This might just be disappointing because I've written fluff for the other two before this. I'm sorry if it's bad. DX EJ, you deserve so much, because you are such a kind person.

**Pairing: **SasuSaku

**Prompt: **garlands

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Naruto_.

* * *

She is a small child of _seven_, almost eight, when she first meets him. She is _bouncy_,_energetic_, and _proud_, no longer the little girl that hid behind her blonde friend and squeaked out every answer. She is proud of her vibrant pink hair and her bright, glowing green eyes, because that's what makes _her_. She is naïve, and the small world around her is somewhat perfect. 

_("Perfect can never happen. There is no such thing as a utopian society._"

She sees him, in his dark haired, dark eyed glory, and it is not a surprise that she falls in love with him, like almost every other girl that has laid their eyes on him.

("_A small child like her would not know love. It is not a feeling that has developed in their minds yet._")

He is swinging on a tire attached to a tree, and she doesn't think it is good enough for him. He is an Uchiha, he can buy a _golden_ tire if he wanted to. But he likes the simpler things, and his mind is still carefree and young. He can smilelaugh_feel_ like a normal child.

("_It didn't last long, did it?_")

Suddenly, looking into her small, pale hands at the wreath of pink flowers, she feels nervous. She fidgets and she's shy again. No, no, _NO_, not _again_. This was her chance! Why couldn't she do it?

("_She's afraid of him. She should be._")

She taps his shoulder, and he looks up and smiles a smile that later on became probably one of the most precious memories she's ever had.

("_He doesn't do it much anymore. You know, the smiling thing_?")

Her lips curve up feebly, and her knees are buckling, but she will not give away yet. She gives him the flowers, which he stares at strangely before laughing a little bit. She blushes and flushes a great shade of red, but she is happy, and he is happy, and at the moment, that's all that matters.

("_It's too bad that it was the beginning of their relationship, yet the end of both their happiness._")

She promised that she would do anything for this boy. Anything._Everything_. She would protect him forever, until she couldn't anymore.

("_She traded her strong friendship for an unrequited love_.")

Her promise was broken the next day when she failed to protect him from the horrorsshocks_scars_ of the Uchiha massacre.

("_I'm an avenger, and you will never be able to understand._")

* * *

She is a girl of _twelve_, almost thirteen, when she first grins triumphantly because of her amazing luck. She is no longer just small and innocent in her demeanor, but she is _arrogant_,_ignorant_, and a _narcissist_. She cares about more about her shampoo brand than training to protect her village. She is beautiful, but she has flaws. 

("_She looks down upon those that are considered stupid, yet they could be the best people in the world. She is blind_.")

This time she holds no fancy gifts or material things. Only herself and her soul, and everyone wonders why she does this, when obviously she is not strong enough to do anything yet. But she loves him.

("_If she was so sure what love was, she would have seen that somebody loved her while she chased another hopelessly_.")

Her smiles are fakeunreal_flirtatious_ and he hates how everything has been washed away. How she has been brainwashed, how she does not know how to rank her priorities anymore.

("_She does not know reality, she dreams the impossible, she does not try to fulfill_.")

When they—_her_ boys—are hurt, she hurts. It's painful, how can she watch? So she kicks and throws and bites and screams until she can do no more.

("_She's gaining something, independence, understanding, insight. She can see_.")

He saves her in the end, in a way so hideous that she can't even watch anymore. She knows what she wants, and it is not her hair or her looks. It is unrelated to those two.

("_All I want is for you to accept me. You're acceptance is everything. Then, I will be happy_.")

She hugs him, tightly, tightly, never to let go. She doesn't want to, he doesn't stop her. They stand there, they collapse. Together, her pink, shiny, glossy, cut hair all around them in scattered patterns. They spin together, and the wind blows them off somewhere.

("_Things went wrong again_.")

He left, his breath right on her neck seconds before. She couldn't believe it, because after everything, after all her yearningdreaming_loving_, he still leaves. He does not turn back to spare another glance at Konoha, at _her_.

("_She traded in her long hair for his departure_.")

The leaves crinkle and snap as he takes his silent steps forward, determined and powered by hatred. She continues to sleep on the icy bench, her heart beating with agony, her tears dripping from her glassy eyes out of love.

("_Thank you._")

* * *

She is a teenager of _seventeen_, almost eighteen, when it feels like it was too long ago since he stepped foot into Konoha. She hasn't seen him in almost three years, and he looks the same. She herself is _skilled_,_nimble_,_agile_,_sweet_,_caring_, and _modest_. She is now _mature_, and she knows how to handle things. But this has been one of the harder ones. 

("_He is taller, has more defined features, sharper eyes, thinner lips, stronger body_.")

She looks right past him, because she does not want to see him again. She does not want to feel more pain from him. She does not want to try to love him again. She is scared of him, because he is the monster that crushed her heart in mere minutes. He is the one that did not care then, and it was most likely the same case now.

("_He tries to apologize, and she tries to forgive, but time has changed things, and everything is thought out thoroughly now._")

But now, when she sees him again, beaten and scarred and bleeding, she has to save him, to heal him, to let him live again. So when she visits his bedside, she does not bring apples, because she has already made that mistake before. She brings flowers, pink flowers, and she hopes he'll remember something.

("_Their childhood, their past, their foundation_.")

She doesn't bring them in a vase, but she weaves them again, with her delicate hands and pursed lips, she sits under the sun to string them together, sweat rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto yellow-green grass blades.

("_She knows she's fallen hopelessly in love with him again, so she doesn't try to resist_.")

When she gets back to the room, excited and hopeful, she places the flowers on the table beside him. He gives them a glance before nodding in thanks, showing no sign of even remembering where it was from.

("_She traded in her resistance for his survival_.")

She sighs lightly, barely audible, and begins to walk out the door. She stops when he calls—states her name, but she does not turn around. His next words cause her to stiffen and freeze, her heart pierced with distress. She is upset, because he is not considerate, but he is blunt, sharp, and rude.

("_Why didn't you just bring a vase for these flowers? It would've been nicer_.")

* * *

She is a young woman of _twenty_, almost twenty-one, when she is mourning her loss for the last time. She is _weak_,_scared_, and _confused_. For the past three years, they were able to speak with each other. They had time for each other. But now, it was all lost. 

("_She is back at square one_.")

She is broken, just a shell of her former self. She is not what anyone wanted, wants, or will want her to be. She does not do anything but stand in the rain that day, the whole day, waitinghoping_dreaming_ that he will come back to her.

("_It's pathetic, we all know he's dead_.")

She doesn't mind that she's been treated horribly by him majority of her life. She just does not like to be alone. But she is, because her_brother_, her _teachers_, her _love_. They are all dead.

("_They are the ones that kept her up_.")

She remembers the flowers again, and she threads them together. They are_bluewhiteredblack_ roses, now, and she lays them by the grave. She sits down on the muddy floor, and she looks absolutely pathetic. She is pitiful. But she does not care, because there is nobody that matters anymore. _He_ is dead. And he will be the last to die before her.

("_She traded in her soul for nothing_.")

She falls over, and she does not crack her eyes open again.

("_I love you._")

* * *

I'm sorry it's such poor quality, EJ. But, happy birthday. :) Also, I know it's not your birthday yet in your time zone, but while I'm here, it IS. ♥ Love, good luck with everything.  



End file.
